The power of calm

“Your kid falls down, he doesn’t cry, he doesn’t know he’s hurt, he looks at you. If you don’t blink, he gets up. He’s fine.”

This one line from The Diplomat stayed with me. Not because it’s a perfect metaphor, children are sometimes really hurt, but because it captures a beautiful truth about how strongly our presence shapes a child’s experience. When I first heard it, I immediately thought: “Yes! I always think this too!” It’s so familiar. At school, when a child trips over their own feet and lands with a thud, they almost always look first at a teacher nearby. And often, a reassuring nod and a simple “you okay?” with a thumbs-up is all they need.

Children constantly look to us to understand how serious something is. Not only when they fall, but in everything: conflicts, disappointments, mistakes, new challenges. Our reaction shapes their interpretation. When we panic, they feel panic. When we freeze, their world tightens too. But when we stay calm, open, and available… it creates space for a quieter response and the confidence to get back up on their own.

Being calm doesn’t mean pushing emotions away or ignoring pain. It means staying grounded, even when something unexpected or difficult happens. You look, you see, you’re present. And that presence tells children: “You’re safe. You can do this.”

As a teacher, I see this every day. A child gets startled, looks at me, and in that split second my reaction helps shape theirs. Sometimes a nod is enough. Sometimes a smile. Sometimes a quiet “I see it, it’s okay.” But almost always, the essence is the same: my reaction creates the space for their own.

And that might be one of the most beautiful responsibilities of working with children, and maybe of parenting too. We don’t have to solve everything. We don’t have to take away all pain. What we can do is stay present, with a message that says: “I believe in you. You can do this. And I’m here if you need me.”

That is the power of “don’t blink.” Not out of indifference, but out of trust.

And every time a child gets back up after a fall, dares to correct a mistake, or continues with new courage, I see that power reflected again.